The Art of War
by CalicoCaligina
Summary: Kise wasn't fighting a battle. This was a war...a campaign. And he would fight to the bitter end.


**AN: I'm a newbie in this fandom, so please forgive any OOC characteristics :)**

Kise thought, sometimes, that it would've been good to have been born with powder blue hair rather than shocking gold. Eyes like the cloudless sky, not molten honey. A personality like the tranquil sea, not a haphazard whirlwind. He would stare in the mirror and envision how different things could've been, if only he could change. But life wasn't like basketball, and he couldn't just copy over all the things he wanted to be.

He didn't think these things very often, because logically, he knew it wasn't _him_. He was a model. He was beautiful. Men and women alike threw themselves at his feet. Kise was, despite all appearances, a realist, after all. The showbiz industry did that to people. He knew how the world turned, and how people thought. By everybody's standards, he would be _better_ than Kurokocchi, pardon the arrogance.

Everybody except Daiki.

Kise didn't blame him; he knew exactly why the man thought the way he did. Kise was beautiful, it was true. But beauty faded. How much longer did he have? Five years? Ten? He had seen his fellow models. In the fashion industry, that's just what you did. Blaze brightly…and then fade. Beauty peaks and withers in the blink of an eye, and before you knew it you were over. Time trickled by, faster than you could ever think, like sand slipping through your fingers.

Honestly though, Kise thought, he wouldn't use his five minutes of fame any other way than this. "Rise and shine, Daikicchi!" He sang as he sailed into the bedroom. True to form, the amorphous lump on the bed didn't so much as twitch, despite the hefty bang the door made when it hit the wall.

A small smile tugged on his lips as he stared at the fluffy pile of blankets that concealed Aomine. This was what he lived for. These quiet, domestic moments were what defined his life, tiny fragments of perfection he collected and cherished. Reluctantly, Daiki stirred, rolling onto his side and mumbling a name. Kise knew from experience that the chances it was his name were phenomenally low. So, carefully blocking out the noise, he set down the tray. He wasn't about to let such a small thing ruin his morning. Reaching out a hand, he shook the pile, trying to get a response.

"The coffee's getting cold, you know," He cajoled. Waking Daiki was equitable to rousing a sleepy toddler: exhausting and full of bribery. "It's the good stuff too! Imported Brazilian!"

The lump twitched. With a reluctant groan, Daiki hauled himself up. "Don't even get why you need the fancy stuff. You cover it all up with cream and milk anyways."

"Don't be mean," Kise pouted. "I can too taste it." Carefully, he slid the tray over, just out of Daiki's reach, prompting the man to finally move a bit and reach for the drink.

Kise smiled, also taking a sip of his café-au-lait. He could remember in high school when Daiki had scorned the drink, preferring Pocari sweat. It hadn't been until college when he got hooked, courtesy of Kuroko, whose inability to function without it in the mornings was very worrisome. Now, Daiki could barely live without the stuff. It was just another indelible mark Kuroko had left on him.

He had wandered down this path of thought many times before, Kise mused. He really ought to learn better. But it was too late, the familiar thought had already bobbed up again, from the dark depths of his mind where he hid everything he didn't want to think about. Was Kuroko the reason behind everything? Was he why Daiki had moved to this small town and lived with a boyfriend he didn't need? How much of Daiki did he still own, even now? On a normal day, he would've dismissed the thought, tucked it away into some dusty corner.

But today, he felt a little brave. And maybe a little bit masochistic too.

"Neh," He asked, voice quiet and pensive. "Do you ever miss Kurokocchi?"

A pause. Aomine shifted slightly, putting his back to the headboard and sagging into the pillows. His eyes lost their sleepy film, brightening with thought. "Nah. He's in Tokyo still, isn't he? We can go visit him anytime."

Kise smiled wryly. Yes, and that was _obviously_ why they hadn't gone too see Kurokocchi and Kagamicchi at their shared apartment in over a year. And why he constantly was making excuses to _not_ visit his former best friend, despite Kuroko's frequent attempts to meet up. Aomine had a knack for lying, especially to himself. It was his own awkward way of bandaging his wounds, Kise supposed.

It wasn't a particularly new revelation, but it still carried a bit of a sting. But even that, the fact that Aomine could never quite shake off the shadow of his past love, was just another lost battle.

Kise had lost many, many battles before. It was the gift Teiko had given to him: people who could beat him. Teiko had given him teammates, people who colored the dull grays of his former life into vibrant colors. They had challenged him, taught him, lead him. And oh, how Kuroko had surpassed his every expectation.

He plopped onto the bed beside Daiki. "Woah, there," The man muttered, steadying his mug. "You're climbing back in? I thought you had a photo shoot this morning."

"Yeah, I do. I'll have to get going soon." He smiled, feeling a teensy bit flattered that Daiki had bothered to memorize his schedule. On impulse, he leaned over and planted a kiss on Daiki's smooth, tanned cheek, feeling hot skin beneath his lips. "Love you."

The man ducked his head, cheeks flushing as he mumbled something vague back. Kise laughed teasingly, snuggling in closer. For now, this would be enough.

Kise had lost many battles, and he would lose many more to come. But that was alright, because this wasn't a battle; it was a war. A war he would fight to the bitter end. A war that meant more to him than anything else he had ever fought for.

And for as long as he was able, he would dwell in this bittersweet paradise.

 **AN: Reviews make my day!**


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